


and I'll get you lost (but I'm having fun)

by boxedblondes



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Kissing, Post-Episode: 2x05, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slight Canon Divergence, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxedblondes/pseuds/boxedblondes
Summary: The implication was clear. The kitchen, earlier – the knife and the not-poison and Villanelle in that insane Grim Reaper outfit, dressed for Eve’s funeral – that had all been foreplay. The two of them could only share this tentative balance for so long. Eve supposed, maybe, she had always known that. Had always understood how it would end, this path they were both on, fate tying their red thread tighter and tighter.They were inevitable, the two of them.Post-episode 5 wish fulfillment.





	and I'll get you lost (but I'm having fun)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be working on my other KE fic but 2x05 hit me HARD and I had to get this out. Hope it doesn't suck lol.
> 
> Un-beta'd. Please let me know if you find any glaring mistakes :)
> 
>  
> 
> Title from "Holy" by King Princess (obviously)

Eve knows what’s coming.

They had spoken on the long drive to the Forest of Dean – or, not spoken, exactly, but communicated in sideways glances and a long, stony silence. “Come home with me, to my safe house,” Villanelle had said when they were nearly there, armored car creeping along through the acres of trees. “After.”

Eve had nodded, and that was that. The implication was clear. The kitchen, earlier – the knife and the not-poison and Villanelle in that insane Grim Reaper outfit, dressed for Eve’s funeral – that had all been foreplay. The two of them could only share this tentative balance for so long. Eve supposed, maybe, she had always known that. Had always understood how it would end, this path they were both on, fate tying their red thread tighter and tighter.

They were inevitable, the two of them.

Eve was not herself while they were in the Forest. She was too stiff, too cold and aloof, as she talked to The Ghost and then later, as she waited in the woods for Villanelle to do whatever she was going to do. She had been cruel, or bordering on it, talking to Villanelle out there, heart pounding like London rain on her bedroom windows and trying not to show it.

It was alright, Eve reasoned. She would make up for it.

And now here they were, back in the car. Villanelle had stormed off after the interrogation, ghosting along the forest floor like the very harbinger of death, so Eve had been left to wait in the backseat, staring out the window at the sky and trees until she came back.

“Drive,” said Villanelle when she swung into the seat opposite Eve, slamming the door as she did. And that was that.

*

Villanelle’s apartment, temporary as it is, is sparse. There is the requisite furniture – a kitchen table with two wooden chairs, a stiff-backed armchair and coffee table, a bed, a nightstand (and a single lamp on it), a rug in the hallway between the bedroom and bathroom. The rest of the space is mostly bare, walls painted a soft yellow, floorboards a deep brown. The only bit of personality in the whole place is Villanelle’s wardrobe. The closet door is open and Eve can see a mishmash of clothes, patterned jackets and shiny, swishy pants.

The place is dark, lit only by the glow of the streetlights through the window. Villanelle crosses to the bedroom as soon as they’re over the threshold, leaving Eve to close and lock the door. She flips on the lamp in the bedroom and Eve follows the soft pool of light into the bedroom. She stands in the doorway, unsure of what to do with herself now that they’re here.

“Come in,” says Villanelle. She sits on the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

“Just like that?” Eve asks. Her voice is raspy, ragged around the edges with nerves and something deeper. More dangerous.

“Just like that,” says Villanelle. “We have done the hard part. Now it is just you and me.” She pats the bed next to her, a space just to her right.

Eve steps tentatively into the room. Unsure as she is, she’s glad they’re doing this here. Her house, the bed she shares with Niko – it would be too much, she thinks. Too big of a step. She wonders if Villanelle knows this, if that’s why she had suggested her own place.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” says Eve. She’s said it before, to Villanelle, she knows, but it’s still true.

Villanelle smiles, a soft one that reaches her eyes. Eve thinks maybe that means it’s genuine. “It’s okay,” she says. “I know what I’m doing.”

And that’s enough for Eve to take the final steps and sit with Villanelle at the side of her bed. It’s enough for her to reach a hand out, for the second time in two days, and place it against the side of Villanelle’s face. Enough for her to rub her thumb back and forth, gently.

“Please,” Eve says. “Kiss me.”

So, Villanelle does. She is sure about it, doesn’t take her time, but pauses just before her lips touch Eve’s, just long enough for Eve to back out and say no. She doesn’t. When Villanelle kisses her, finally, it feels less urgent than Eve had expected. Less life-and-death and more natural, like they’ve kissed a thousand times before.

Villanelle’s lips are warm on her own, soft in a way Eve is sure her own lips are not. It feels nice, which is unexpected, Eve thinks, so much different than she thought it would be. They move together, caught in an ebb and flow of lips-touch-breath. When Villanelle opens her mouth a little more, traces Eve’s bottom lip with her tongue, Eve can feel it like a shot of adrenaline, straight down to her toes.

It is electric.

Villanelle pulls back slightly, separates them just enough to look into Eve’s eyes. “So you really aren’t going to stab me this time,” she says. “I was worried for a minute.” Her lips are pink and shiny with spit. Eve is mesmerized.

“Nope,” she says. “Are you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Villanelle smiles. “Unless you want me to?”

She says it playfully, a throwaway comment, but it still punches Eve straight in the gut and knocks the wind out of her.

“Oh?” says Villanelle. “Maybe that is something you want.”

And, God, maybe she does. “Not right now,” says Eve. “I’ve had enough danger for one week.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t put out hits on yourself, then.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Villanelle shifts, folds her legs up on the bed so she is sitting cross-legged, one knee overlapping Eve’s. “So what do you want, then? I could kiss you all night, but I figured you would be looking for… more.” 

Her eyes are dark, hungry-looking from the way her pupils are dilated. Eve wonders if she, too, looks just as ravenous. “You choose,” she says.

“Let me fuck you,” says Villanelle, the words going straight to Eve’s bloodstream like a hit of nicotine, making her heart race and heat pool in the space below her belly button. The hunger in Villanelle’s eyes has only deepened. Eve doesn’t think she’s even blinking anymore. “Please.”

“Yes,” Eve says when she gets her voice back. “Oh, God, yes, please.”

Villanelle leans into her, kisses a line down her neck from earlobe to collarbone. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says, and it is almost a growl. “I will be right back.”

And what else is there for Eve to do but listen to her. She scoots back on the bed, head nestled on a pillow and wills her limbs to relax. The bed is soft, but Eve would expect nothing less from Villanelle. After a minute or so, her heartbeat slows enough that she no longer feels like she might pass out at any moment. When Villanelle returns, she’s sure it will skyrocket once again, but for now, Eve just lets herself breathe.

A thought occurs to her. “Should I take off my clothes?” she calls.

“If you want,” comes Villanelle’s voice from somewhere in the bathroom.

Eve gives herself a shrug like _Fuck it, why not_ , and starts to strip, tossing pieces of clothing over the side of the bed, where they fall on the hardwood floor with a soft sound. When Villanelle comes back, she is completely naked, lying comfortably underneath the blanket. It’s cold in the apartment, in a way that’s not noticeable until one is lying unclothed beneath the vent.

“Oh, Eve,” says Villanelle. “You are something else.” She’s taken off the lacy black Reaper dress and is, instead, dressed in a thin, satiny bathrobe the color of fresh salmon. Eve is smart enough to know she’s probably not wearing anything underneath.

Eve notices, then, that Villanelle is holding something in her left hand, black and bulky and indistinguishable as anything she’s ever seen before.

“What’s that?” she asks.

Villanelle laughs a little. “I think you’ll be able to figure it out.” She tosses the object onto the nightstand and clambers onto the bed until she is perched over Eve, knees at either side of her hips and forearms bracketing her head.

“Let me,” she says, nonsensically. Eve nods anyway.

Villanelle undoes the sash on her robe and slides the whole thing over her arms in one fluid movement. Eve’s breath comes shakily as she looks at her, the soft curve of her breasts ( _ale decha_ , my ass), the faintly muscled lines of her stomach and thighs, the curly patch of hair between her legs.

“Oh,” says Eve, hands coming up to touch her anywhere, everywhere. “Oh.”

Villanelle smiles at her. “Let me look at you,” she says, and Eve is again powerless to refuse. Villanelle starts at the divot behind her right ear, tongues gently at the soft skin and kisses it just as softly. She moves down Eve’s neck in the same path as before, following Eve’s jawline, then her carotid, down to her collarbone and shoulder. 

She comes back up for air, and to kiss Eve deeply on the lips. Eve bites her, then, on a whim, right on her lower lip. Villanelle inhales sharply and pulls back. “Eve,” she says. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” She laughs, disbelieving, and Eve is forced to smile, blood burning in her cheeks.

Villanelle is quicker then, more aggressive. It’s like she was waiting for Eve to make the first move, for Eve to ask for it. For Eve to _beg_. She kisses and licks her way down Eve’s body, pulling the bedsheets down as she goes. Her sternum, her breasts, the vast expanse of her stomach – Villanelle maps every inch of it with her mouth. She kisses the top of Eve’s pubic bone, breath tickling the coarse hairs there, then skips to her thighs – the sensitive skin and muscle beneath – and down her legs, to the ticklish spot behind her knees.

Down there, head between Eve’s legs, Villanelle finally looks up again. Eve knows her chest is heaving, breath coming far too fast. She hopes she’s not sweating too much.

“You are beautiful,” says Villanelle. “So beautiful, darling Eve.”

Eve laughs, self-conscious and taken aback. “We should have done this ages ago,” she says.

Villanelle responds by sliding her hands up Eve’s legs, settling at the back of her thighs. She presses one final kiss to Eve’s left hip, then noses her way down Eve’s pubic bone until she is buried all the way in her vulva. Her tongue circles around Eve’s clit, pushes against it in little pulses that have Eve’s thighs shaking within minutes.

“God,” Eve hears herself saying. “Oh my God, oh, oh.”

She reaches down to lace her fingers through Villanelle’s hair, which is, for once, loose around her shoulders. Villanelle hums vaguely in response and begins to move faster, deeper. Her tongue hits the ring of muscle just outside Eve's vagina and she gasps, out loud and uncontrolled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Villanelle, never one for taking orders, takes her sweet time about it, tonguing loose and slow as Eve shakes above her. Just when Eve thinks she can’t possibly take any more, Villanelle seems to take pity on her and points her tongue, thrusting as deep as she can go two or three times, then moving back up to suck on Eve’s clit before starting the cycle all over again.

It isn’t much longer before Eve is feeling the telltale flutterings of an impending orgasm. “Please, please,” she says. “I’m close.” Villanelle pulls off of her with a faint, wet sound, and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

Eve, so close to the edge only seconds ago, can’t speak quite yet. When she gets her breath back, all she can say is, “Fuck.”

Villanelle laughs. “So impatient,” she says. “Fine, but only since you asked so nicely.” 

She climbs off the bed and reaches over to the nightstand to grab the object she put there when she first came in to the bedroom. She picks it up, untangles the straps, and starts to buckle it in place on her waist. 

_Oh_. Eve thinks she gets it now.

“What position do you want?” asks Villanelle, turning back toward the bed. Eve hadn’t noticed before but her skin is flushed from shoulders to waist, two bright spots of color high on her cheeks.

“Is it stupid to say I want to see you?” Eve asks.

“No,” Villanelle says. She bends over to kiss Eve on the tip of her nose. “Not at all.”

They rearrange themselves on the bed, Eve on her back with a pillow under her hips, Villanelle kneeling in the space between her knees. “Are you okay?” she asks. Eve nods.

“This is the part I’ve actually done before,” she says.

Villanelle smiles at that. “Not like this, you haven’t.”

She lines herself up, tears a single-use foil packet of lube with her teeth, and drizzles some on the end of the silicone dick. “Relax,” she tells Eve.

Eve takes a long, slow breath through her nose and lets it out through her mouth. Villanelle pushes in. It’s slow-going at first, the stretch a sharp and pronounced burn. Villanelle is patient, pushing forward centimeters at a time as Eve adjusts to the heavy weight of her. When she is fully-seated, in as far as she can go, she stills completely and waits it out as Eve breathes, gets used to the feeling.

“Okay?” she asks again. Eve nods.

“Yes,” she says. Then, “Kiss me?”

Villanelle complies, sucking on her lips like she was sucking on her clit moments before. Eve feels it there, too, a bolt of arousal that makes her tilt her head back and away from Villanelle and just breathe, little hitched breaths that she’s never, in all her years of marriage, heard herself make before.

“Good?” asks Villanelle.

“Yes,” Eve breathes. “Move.”

The rhythm Villanelle sets is almost punishing, her thrusts shallow but forceful, the head of the fake dick hitting every place inside Eve that makes her nerves light up. She starts to move, too, meeting Villanelle’s thrusts as best she can. Her orgasm is building, again, dark and angry like a stormcloud.

“I can’t,” she says. “I’m not going to last much longer.”

“That’s okay,” says Villanelle. “Just let go.”

She slips a hand down between them, moistened with residual lube and her own saliva, and starts rubbing circles around Eve’s clit. It is _so good_ , and Eve thinks that if this is what giving into her impulses feels like, why has she spent all her life fighting them?

Her clit is so sensitive and Villanelle’s thrusts are just this side of too-good and before she knows it, Eve is coming, throwing her head back against the pillow and letting out little _uh, uh_ s as she shakes, hips jumping up erratically.

Eve closes her eyes as she comes down, revels in the dirty feeling of Villanelle pulling out, the sound of her undoing the buckles and throwing the strap-on onto the floor. She opens her eyes as she feels the mattress shift, looks up to see Villanelle kneeling again between her legs. The belt of the strap-on has left angry pink lines all along Villanelle’s hips. The sight is distressingly sexy to Eve.

“Come here,” Eve says, post-sex gravelly voice in full effect. “Let me take care of you.”

“You don’t have to,” says Villanelle. She sounds almost shy, somehow, after all of that.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Eve.

She sits up slowly, inhaling sharply through her nose at the ache. She kneels facing Villanelle, mimicking her posture. Their height difference is less pronounced like this, she thinks. Less obvious. 

“Eve?” Villanelle asks. There is fire in her eyes. Eve wonders what she’s seeing in her own.

“Let me,” she says, pushing Villanelle down to the mattress.

“Let me,” she says again, as she snakes a hand down between Villanelle’s legs, feels the wetness there. Villanelle moans softly in the back of her throat. Her eyelids flutter in a way Eve has only seen in movies.

She feels the same, Eve thinks, down there. It is remarkably similar to masturbating, only Eve can’t feel what Villanelle’s feeling. Still, it is almost enough just to watch her face, see all the ways Eve is making Villanelle feel good. It’s quite powerful, she thinks.

“Please,” Villanelle says. Besides her breathing and the occasional noises she makes, more sighs than moans, she has not made a sound.

Eve rubs more firmly, then slips the middle finger of her other hand just inside. It is all Villanelle can take before she is coming, too, inner walls fluttering spasmodically around Eve’s finger. Eve keeps stroking her clit, much softer now, until Villanelle begins to shake like a leaf on every downstroke, hypersensitive but willing to take whatever Eve will offer her. 

“Fuck,” she says, the sound punched out of her, once Eve has pulled away and wiped her hands on the bedsheets.

“Was that okay?” Eve asks.

Villanelle looks her straight in the face. “You are an idiot,” she says, far too coherent for someone who orgasmed not five minutes ago.

Eve flops down on the bed beside her. “What do we do now?”

“We sleep,” says Villanelle. “And then, maybe, I will take you for breakfast.”

She rolls over to turn off the light, bathing the room in a darkness so complete it feels like being in a cave. The room smells like sex and sweat and the sultry tang of Villanelle’s perfume. Eve pulls the ruined sheets over both of them and curls up on her side to face Villanelle.

“Thank you,” she whispers into the dark room. 

“Now that,” says Villanelle, “was a real thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh yeah. 
> 
> Thoughts?


End file.
